What will certainly in the future become legend: my attempt to capture true adventure - the drama, pain, and hilarity of our largely unplanned six-month trip across the country. It's like reality TV, except you're going to read it!

Padre Island debauchery; elevators, and a Hooters receipt

We arrived in North Padre Island on Wednesday, March 15. Padre Island has a rich history; it was first charted in 1519 when Spain was exploring the Gulf of Mexico, and at that time there were tall, cannibalistic Indians, the Karankawa, inhabiting the island. In the 1500s, several ships laden with gold and silver blew off course and smashed into the island; and there are still centuries-old coins to be found in the sand. (If you find one, it’s legally Texas property…but if I had found one, it would have been Stephanie’s property.) The Isla Blanca (“White Island”, as it was called) also played a big part during the Civil War, when Texas seceded in 1861 and the federal navy put a blockade on the coast to stop the flow of European guns coming in to the Confederacy. Many people, I’m sure, visit the island and decide to stay; it is said that if you are in this area, and drink water from the Rio Grande, you will always come back.

In North Padre, we stayed at the Holiday Inn SunSpree Resort. (When Bill first said it, I thought he said ‘SunScreen Resort’…nope.) It was quite a nice place; on the beach, with pools and room service, a hot tub, and a tiki bar outside with live music. Bill discovered another ‘amazing’ beach when he was riding his bike one day; I didn’t see this alleged beach but I suspect if it was that fabulous it was perhaps a nude one…just kidding. However, this particular lodging catered more to families than to people in their early twenties, so our socializing was mostly with people older and younger than we were. There was a crew of 18-year old boys from Kansas City staying down the hall from us, and they discovered us early and proceeded to sporadically hang out with us the entire time. They were funny, but there was one kid, Sam, who was a hysterical guy…he and his friends weren’t allowed to hang out at the bar, but somehow Sam weaseled his way in there the last night we were there; I don’t know where the other younguns were. He was the hit of the bar; I have never seen anything like this…at one point he was onstage with the Jamaican band, microphone in hand, talking to the crowd; and then about half an hour later, I turned around because I heard chanting behind me. It was Sam, surrounded by a circle of people (and these are middle-aged people) that were chanting “SAM! SAM! SAM!” over and over while he took a shot of something.

We were at the SunSpree for four nights, and we did get to know a good amount of the people staying there; we’d run into them all about twenty times a day. (Whenever we stay in a place for more than one night, which is rare, we develop these strange little communities. It’s fun.) There was some drama playing out at the SunSpree with some people we met; all I will divulge is that there was an engagement that was broken off, ring returned; some people were ditched when the person giving them a ride home took off for Oklahoma; there was cheating on significant others; there were lies, covert spy operations, and nasty betrayals. For the unedited version, you’ll have to wait until I publish the NC-17 version of the story someday. I will say again, however, that there were literally no people our age at this place; and all of the drama took place with people over forty whom we befriended by default. Goes to show, you can always have fun with what you’ve got. And we had a blast with these people. One bartender saw that we were hanging out with Bill and leaned in to whisper, “Do you want me to get rid of that guy?” which was hilarious…we said, “Nope, he’s our boss!”

I love explaining our situation to people we meet; us being the crazy people from New Hampshire, Bill riding his bicycle across the country and us being his pit crew and maintaining these websites for him… I realize it’s a bizarre situation. Well, after all, Bill is the self-proclaimed ‘hardest-working man on Wall Street” (that cracks me up!). Sometimes people don’t believe us when we explain the story of our journey, and if we don’t feel like explaining we always have the old standby of just calling Bill “Uncle Bill” and pretending we’re on vacation with our uncle. And Bill has ridden every day, even when we were staying on Padre…his total mileage as of the last day in Padre is 1643 miles. Now that we are about halfway through the trip, it’s dawning on me that we actually are going to finish this! And that may be the craziest thing yet!

Staying on the sixth floor of a hotel means one thing is certain: countless squashed, smelly elevator trips every day. If there are small children in the elevator, that is bad because more floor buttons than necessary will invariably be pressed, each glowing orb symbolizing that much longer you must remain standing still, trying not to lean too much on the random people you are next to. I’m not even a person who has issues with claustrophobia and YET…elevators that are packed to capacity make me a bit squirmy. One time we were in there with a full elevator, and everyone was quiet (and I couldn’t look at Sarah during any of these painful elevator sessions because we’d both start laughing at nothing) and it was a bit uncomfortable…and then this kid said, “All right, people, I know I’m wearing too much AXE body spray – it’s clear to me now, and I apologize.” He definitely had quite the cologne odor clouding the elevator, so that was pretty funny. Another annoying part about the elevatorian lifestyle was that people waiting on their floors to go down would press the buttons and then by the time the elevator doors opened at their floor, they wouldn’t be there. That reminded me way too much of being a freshman in college and living on the eighth floor of Stoke Hall…while everyone goes to class at the same time…bad elevator memories.

There were birds everywhere on Padre Island. There have been 380 species of birds documented there; that’s 45% of all bird species in North America. There are also many endangered species of birds here, some permanent residents and some passing through; the island is a resting point for birds that migrate back and forth over the Gulf Coast waters. I first realized that I was seeing pelicans when they were flying above me and I noticed how long their beaks were. There were brown pelicans, white pelicans, terns, egrets, and cormorants. My favorite bird sighting (and I am not a birdwatcher, but it’s always thrilling to see wild animals in their natural environment) was definitely when I thought I saw a flock of gorgeous pink midget flamingoes – and I learned that they were actually roseatte spoonbills. They were beautiful.

We were eating at the Jolly Pelican, the restaurant in the bottom of the SunSpree, and I overheard an exchange between the elderly couple at the table next to me: the old man, spiffed in flannel, was sorting through his wallet for some cash when an old a receipt fell out and landed on the table. His wife scrutinized the orange-printed logo on the receipt and exclaimed, “Carl, when did you go to Hooters?!?!” The old man picked up the receipt and squinted at it, and I wasn’t sure if he was feigning puzzlement or truly feeling baffled by the wicked piece of paper. Just then the waitress came by, having overheard the conversation. “Oh no,” laughed the waitress, and explained that the company who brings their receipt paper for the restaurant brought the wrong rolls, so every Jolly Pelican patron was receiving an orange Hooters receipt! It just goes to show, though, that despite what was most likely over a fifty year union, a wayward ‘adult entertainment’ receipt can still make sparks fly from behind cataracted eyes.

We stayed in a tiny room in a Motel 6 on South Padre Island that smelled of stale beer; there had been spring breakers staying there all week, after all. The beer had fused with the water runoff from the air conditioners outside of every room, so I had to make sure I didn’t hydroplane over the liquid with the flip-flops I’ve been wearing every day for about three weeks now. The beach was about a block away, and it was beautiful. They have cleanup crews that rake the beach a lot, so it was clean even though there had been people getting drunk, playing on the sand all day, and leaving trash behind. Sarah and I went into the ocean and had such a fun time playing in the waves, which were pretty big. The water got deeper gradually, so you can wade out pretty far and not have it be too deep; there were almost no rocks or shells to catch our feet, and the water is lighter and greener than New Hampshire ocean, and much warmer. In August our ocean isn’t as warm as the Gulf Coast water in March! I hadn’t jumped around and ridden waves in the ocean for a while and it was exhilarating; it’s the kind of experience that makes a person feel completely alive. Padre Island sand is very fine sand, soft, with each grain so tiny the little suckers have attached themselves all over my body. I just took a shower and after the shower I had sand in my eyelashes, even though I scrubbed my face, and in my scalp. There is sand in my bed every night, sand in the pages of my book, sand in all of my luggage, sand in my ears, sand lining the cracks of my cell phone, and sand on this keyboard.

At night we decided we were going to go out, so we talked to some people, who told us to go to Louie’s Backyard, which was an enormous bar/club on the water, with different levels, huge rooms, and lots of bars. I actually never went to spring break in a warm location when I was at UNH, so this was kind of my night to catch up on what I missed: it was CRAZY. These people were DRUNK! Unfortunately I must censor myself for my more delicate readers on the true debauchery that I witnessed, including an unwelcome flash of genitals; but I do have a good story: there was a performer that night, Cascada, who is a techno chick from Germany. I actually knew one of her songs, and so we watched her performance. After that I went to the ladies’ room, and when I got out I saw this security guard that Sarah and I had chatted with earlier, so I went and said hello to him again. He was guarding the VIP lounge, with an inconspicuous roped-off cement staircase behind him. As I was standing there, Cascada appeared with her bodyguards and walked up the stairs. I congratulated her on the show, and she was very sweet and thanked me. After she’d gone up the stairs, the security guard said that I could go up to the VIP lounge if I wanted. I said I had to get Sarah, and so then we were IN!

The VIP lounge was filled with ordinary looking people; it wasn’t gilded in gold with fountains of pink champagne or anything (bummer). There certainly wasn’t anyone cool like Robert De Niro or Charlize Theron up there either. (Bummer again.) I was drinking a can of Budweiser and I felt slightly out of place until I saw a guy drinking Miller Lite out of a can. Cascada was sitting at a corner table, and we went over to chat with her; and she was a very sweet girl! We asked her what it was like to be on tour, etc. and she was just having a great time. We got a picture of her and it’s the standard kind of THIS IS US WITH A CELEBRITY picture; us flanking her with the smiles of ‘we don’t know you but we feel cool right now’ on our faces. Eventually we got ejected from the VIP lounge when a bouncer noticed we only had the “we’re over 21” orange bands on our wrists and not the elite “VIP” white bands. Ah well, it was still a victory. I was a VIP for about ten minutes and then back to my normal civilian lifestyle…

My hair feels weird. It’s the water out here. It’s frizzier and puffier than it normally is, and this is very displeasing. It’s one of the downfalls of traveling. I also would kill to have my nice pastel bath poof with body wash liberally poured on, hanging in my own shower. It has been an extreme lather downgrade since I am in the stage of my life when I am using one-inch-long bars of hotel soap, and when I get home I am going to lather myself until the entire shower is filled with big foamy bubbles. Another bathroom-related tidbit is that in both of our Padre Island accommodations, the faucet has to be turned right for hot water and left for cold. WHAT IS THAT? This throws things off on a grand scale. And I burned my frickin hand. Twice.

And now back to Raymondville, back on our northerly course, to the Best Western we’ve already stayed at, with no Internet and nothing to eat except for a Whattaburger restaurant. Too many Whattaburgers…open 24 hours…extra ketchup please…no lettuce…aaaahhhhh

Comments

Very cool write-up Steph. It was nice hearing from you today - I hope you are doing well in Florida. My best wishes for a highly enjoyable lather up in the shower when you get home(-:
Anyway, I can't wait to come out to NH hopefully this summer to chill with you. Maybe I can get you guys to come back to San Clemente some day. You can stay in my SICK new pad with ocean view, steps from the beach and downtown. I'm lovin life. Keep it real. -Scott

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